Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me
by SombraAlma
Summary: Flashback AU: Kate and Sawyer meet before the crash. "Kate wonders if it's still a con if she's fully aware of what he's doing."


**Title:** Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them; just borrowing.  
**Summary:** Flashback AU. Kate and Sawyer meet before the crash.  
**Spoilers:** Not much. Kate and Sawyer's flashbacks.  
**Notes:** The title comes from Iron & Wine's song of the same name.

* * *

The woman's drunk, or at least close enough to it, though Kate suspects it hadn't taken her long to get there. She's not the type Kate would have expected to see at a bar like this; she's made up and put together and is drinking something pink. _Money_, Kate thinks as she watches her. Maybe slumming it in a lowbrow bar is exciting for her, tantalizing.

She has a glittering diamond on her left ring finger. Maybe this is just the last place her husband would come looking for her.

Maybe it's the man.

He's put together, too, suit, hair slicked back, but he's different from the woman. He's noticeably comfortable here, familiar with the rough surface of the bar under his elbow, with the bottle of beer held casually between his fingers. He's loosened his tie just slightly, and slouches on the barstool, body angled in towards the woman in a position Kate's sure is absolutely intentional. She can hear snippets of his low Southern drawl, enough to begin to understand just what he's doing, and certainly enough to recognize the woman is putty in his hands.

Eventually the couple gets up, and Kate can see a waiting cab at the curb outside when the man opens the door. He leans close, murmurs something in the woman's ear to her high giggle, and slides his hand down to rest on her ass, an obvious promise of something more. He watches her get in the cab, and even across the room Kate can see the self-satisfied smirk on his face. Kate should be disgusted. Instead, she feels something warm and not altogether unpleasant coil in her belly.

When he returns to the bar and his beer, Kate slips off her stool and takes the one next to him. "I'm curious," she begins, voice low but amused, "how often does a con like that work?"

She's startled him, she can tell. He swallows down a mouthful of beer as her recovers, steadies his gaze on her, evaluating. She recognizes the look; she's used it herself – who to trust, who's going to turn you in. She arches an eyebrow, offering no help; she'll let him decide for himself. After a few moments, then, he grins, slow and wide. "Every single time, sweetheart."

Kate can't help an eyeroll, ever so slight. "Stupid women, then."

The man laughs aloud at that. "Stupider husbands." A pause, as he looks her up and down, a grin and a wink, voice dripping with suggestion. "You married?"

She holds up her left hand, ignoring the brief, sharp pain at the thought. "Didn't stick."

"Stupid husband?" he guesses.

She hums something noncommittal. "Something like that."

They drink in silence for a while, and there's something about him keeping her close. He leans into her, crowding her space like he'd done with the other woman, yet still not touching. He watches her mouth when she raises her glass to her lips, and her eyes fall to his throat each time he swallows. She can feel the heat of him next to her and finds she isn't afraid of the tension. He could be dangerous. But hell, so is she. Or so they say.

When she stands and heads towards the bathroom, she isn't at all surprised when he follows.

The tension she'd felt at the bar is still there, heightened, when he enters the small room and backs her up to the wall, his hands on either side of her, bracing himself. She holds off, slightly quickened breathing her only tell, watching as his face flushes in anticipation.

"You have a name, Freckles?" he asks, slow and low and drawling, his breath ghosting her cheek, and Kate wonders if it's still a con if she's fully aware of what he's doing.

"Maggie," she offers, the lie rolling easy off her tongue. She nods her chin at him and her lips graze his skin, just briefly. He knows exactly what she's doing, too; she can hear it in the tight inhalation of breath. "Your turn."

"Name's Sawyer," he says then, and presses his thigh against her, slow and deliberate.

Touch for touch. She snakes an arm around his back and pulls him tighter. "Nice to meet you, Sawyer." She moves her hips strategically and feels his body respond.

He grins and presses closer, his hand palming her breast through her t-shirt; she can hear the smirk in his voice. "Pleasure's mine."

It goes quickly after that, clothing pushed away just enough for access, his breath in hers, her teeth on his shoulder. The tile wall is cold on her back, his bared skin hot and damp against her belly, and the contrast makes her breath hitch and her fingers scrabble for purchase on his shirt. She hears the crinkle of a wrapper and his groan as he rolls the condom on and then suddenly he's pushed inside her, fast and hard; her eyes water with the surprise pleasure-pain of it. She wraps a leg around him, tight, and it's not long before they're both spent, breathing heavy, slouched against the wall.

He pulls off of her slowly and they set their clothing to rights. Kate's in the middle of tying her hair back up into a ponytail when he returns to her, pressing his mouth hard against hers. She tastes, still, nicotine and lager, and she chases his tongue for a last time.

"Same time tomorrow, Maggie?" he asks, the halfway-dangerous grin starting on his lips.

She tugs at her shirt and reaches up to adjust his tie before she can stop herself. "I'm not going to be here tomorrow," she tells him. "Just passing through."

"Pity," he returns, running his calloused thumb over her cheek roughly. "Maybe I'll catch up with you again sometime."

"Maybe." Kate flashes him a half-smile; she's not one to make promises. Instead, she opens the door and walks through the bar, out onto the street.

The night breeze cools her flushed skin, but she can still taste him on her lips.


End file.
